Time Outs and Painkillers
by wneleh
Summary: A bit of Prisoner X resolution, written as SentinelAngst dues.


Time Outs and Painkillers  
by Helen W.

Immediately after _Prisoner X_…

Jim made it to Starkville's front gate without being stopped. Simon's voice, echoing from radio to radio, commanded that he be given clear passage; it followed him down corridors, through the courtyard, through security.

Simon had said all the right things back there; but he'd had no clue what Jim had almost done. How good it had felt to beat the shit out of Vinson, how hard it had been to not just do the same to Turner.

Jim hadn't even tried to connect with Blair before fleeing, once he'd seen the kid was in one piece. Blair'd understand what he'd been through even less than Simon. Not Sandburg's fault, not his fault at all, but Jim just couldn't deal with - whatever it was Blair would have said to him.

Still, Jim paused when he reached Rt. 14, listening for some sign Blair was following. Nothing.

Of course not. Blair'd be getting back to the city as quickly as he could.

There was a ReadyMart to the right, so Jim headed left, walking well below the paved surface to avoid being target practice for the law enforcement personnel still streaming into Starkville. Every guard was a potential accessory, which meant they'd have to replace the entire staff tonight. And the crowd would also need to be dealt with, all the scum who'd come to have their little night at the Colosseum.

Simon wasn't going to being seeing the inside of his home tonight; Jim was amazed by how little he felt inclined to go back and lend a hand.

* * *

Two minutes later, still no Blair. Three more minutes passed, then another.

Yeah, Blair'd gone home. Or maybe to the station, or into campus. Or… somewhere. Jim was sure of it.

Then, something shifted, and Jim knew Sandburg wasn't more than fifty yards behind him. He paused and turned; good thing, too, because Blair was way too close to the road. "Get on the grass, you'll get yourself killed up there," Jim called.

"I'm staying where I can see where I'm walking," Blair answered. "I can dodge a squad car, I can't dodge a hole."

"A twisted ankle beats being thrown a couple dozen yards."

"Good to see you too, man," said Blair. "Going anywhere in particular?"

"No… just needed somewhere without walls."

"So Simon said."

Blair'd closed the distance between them, but he hadn't left the road's shoulder. "You really can't see down here?" Jim asked.

"I really can't see down there," said Blair. "I only know it's you by your cheerful demeanor."

"Cute," said Jim, but he climbed most of the way back up the slight embankment. "Here, grab hold," he said, holding out his right arm…

…then pulled it back, because there was no way Blair was going to feel comfortable touching him, not until - until he had a shower, at least. Something.

"Do you mind? I'm not up to playing whack-a-mole," said Blair.

For a long moment Jim couldn't figure out what Blair meant; then, feeling a little sheepish, he re-extended his arm. While Blair held his wrist, he picked out the smoothest path he could back down to where the grassy slope met boulders and low shrubs. There was some glass here and there, but it wasn't hard to find a decent spot for sitting, as long as they didn't mind getting a little damp.

He sank down against one of the boulders and Blair followed suit.

"So, I was right," said Blair.

Which was not at all what Jim had been expecting Blair to start with. Not that Sandburg's ego was small or anything - just, Jim'd been expecting something more touchy-feely, he guessed.

And - what on earth was Sandburg talking about, anyway?

"You mean, about…" No, really, what? Blair going undercover? Something about the laundry bags they'd agreed to use to get messages out of Starkville?

"Remember that conversation we had right before Kelly Temple knocked on the door, about football and gladiators and shit?" Blair asked. "You were romanticizing both the NFL and ancient Rome, and I told you you were full of it. Remember?"

"Um…"

"And I was right, right?" said Blair. "They're not a bit alike. Time outs and painkillers are the way to go."

"And endorsement deals, if you can get them," said Jim. Everything'd come back to him; they'd been watching the Seahawks blow a two-touchdown lead, then fumble again, late in the fourth quarter, and he'd been trying to get Blair to give a damn because, well, being a Jags fan was fine, there was nothing wrong with basketball, but football was beautiful, football was the ultimate sport, and it was a crying shame that Blair didn't enjoy it more.

"Anyway, I just don't want…" - Blair paused and waved a hand in the air - "…to have this destroy football for you."

"That's what you wanted to tell me?"

"Pretty much."

"Alrighty, so noted."

Blair didn't say anything else, which was fortunate because Jim found himself blinking hard and digging his almost-non-existent nails into his palm to steady himself. Because life anywhere was precious, but being free, and having people like Simon and Blair in his corner, that was more than he ever expected, ever deserved, could ever have dreamed he'd have.

* * * THE END * * *


End file.
